


The People In Your Neighborhood

by Evil_Knitter (Nichneven13)



Category: Sesame Street - Fandom, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Crack, Crossover, Fluff, Gen, Human on Muppet violence, M/M, RPF, RPS - Freeform, Schmoop, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nichneven13/pseuds/Evil_Knitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artwork by Tringic and is posted with the story.</p><p>The Supernatural boys have been invited to appear as guest stars on Sesame Street. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The People In Your Neighborhood

  


  
[ ](http://s1108.photobucket.com/albums/h404/evil_knitter/?action=view&current=Misha-div2.jpg)  


The invitation came on a Friday afternoon, just as the cast and crew of Supernatural was breaking for lunch. A giddy Sera Gamble skipped up to the table where Jensen, Jared and Misha sat, still in costume and munching on sandwiches.

“You guys won’t believe what I just got,” Sera very nearly squealed, waving a brightly colored sheet of paper above their heads.

Three sets of eyes tracked the movement of the paper, but it was Jared who spoke up first. “Our first Emmy nomination?” He asked, which produced two snort-chuckles from his friends.

“Of course not,” Sera scoffed, but then grinned. “It’s even better.”

“Antici…” Misha said, trailing off.

“…pation,” Jensen continued for him.

“Is overrated,” Misha finished with a wink at Jensen. “We are agog, waiting for the moment you decide to tell us your news.”

“You’ve been invited to appear on Sesame Street,” Sera said in a rush. She thunked the paper she held in the middle of the table, upsetting the salt.

“No freakin’ way,” Jared dropped his sandwich and snatched up the letter from Sesame Workshop. Apparently, his significantly junior age meant he remembered his time with the characters on the Street fondly. “This is huge! I’m in. We’ll do it, right Jen?”

“Of course we will,” Jensen said, craning to read the letter over his best friend’s shoulder.

“There’s a law that makes saying no to Big Bird illegal,” Misha said, calmly taking a bite of his turkey and provolone on sourdough. He was pleased for the Js, of course he was, but damn, appearing on Sesame Street was a lifelong dream of _his_. His quasi-celebrity status was a blessing and a curse. He was popular within the fandom, but a virtual unknown outside of it. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Dude,” Jensen pulled away from the letter with a grin. He took a sip of water before flicking his eyes to his boyfriend. He knew Misha’s feelings about Sesame Street… and just how deep those feelings ran. “They invited you, too.”

“No way,” Misha said with a brittle laugh, which was generally not his style. He leaned closer to the letter, but couldn’t quite get close enough to actually read the words. His eyes locked on Jensen’s, sharp and full of warning. “Don’t fuck with me, Jen.”

“The invitation is for all three of us,” Jared confirmed with a grin and pushed the letter in Misha’s direction. “Dude, this is going to be awesome.”

“They want me, too,” Misha said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. He looked at Jensen, whose smile was threatening to break his face in half, and then to Jared who was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Of course they do,” Sera said with a shove at his shoulder. “Why would you think otherwise?”

“I’m going to Sesame Street,” Misha said softly, taking a moment to let the words roll sweetly around his brain before he jumped out of his chair and held his arms wide over his head, tilting his head back and looking very much like a praying angel. “I’m going to Sesame Street!”

  
[ ](http://s1108.photobucket.com/albums/h404/evil_knitter/?action=view&current=Jensen-div.jpg)  


The time between the invitation from Sesame Workshop and the actual shooting dragged abysmally, leaving the boys with an inordinate amount of excited energy to spend. Jared’s mother sent him a box set of classic Sesame Street episodes and a routine was born. Every day after shooting wrapped at Supernatural, the trio retired to Jared and Jensen’s house to watch a few episodes.

“I want to do a remake of the classic ‘Near/ Far’ skit,” Jared said with a wistful sigh. “Grover rocked that.”

Jensen and Misha watched as Jared shuffled to the far end of the living room and shouted “Far!” and then shuffled back to stand directly in front of them and shout “Near!”

“I want to work with Gordon,” Misha said. “And Maria.”

“But they aren’t even monsters,” Jared stopped short on his way back to Far. “You’ve got to pick a monster.”

“Gordon and Maria have been on Sesame Street since its inception,” Misha countered. “Think of the insight they have into the magic of the series, or on the ability to entertain an audience for decades. They are as important to the cast as the monsters themselves. Plus, we already work with monsters every day.”

“Dude!” Jared’s face twisted at Misha’s apparently offensive words. “Show some respect. Snuffalupagus is a lot different than a damn daeva or shrtiga!”

“Hey,” Jensen said, interrupting what promised to be a deep and philosophical debate on the relative importance of humans over Muppets. “I wonder what the letter of the day will be.”

There was a beat of silence and then.

“I hope it’s Q,” Misha said at the same time Jared said: “I hope it’s J.”

“And the number of the day will be…?”

They all looked at each other, swapping grins and then together they said: “Thirteen!”

It was an old joke, or as old as jokes between them ever got. They worked on Supernatural where urban legends were cannon fodder for their scripts. When it came to numbers, there was only one that had been dragged through the mud of superstition: thirteen. No matter what, whether they were together or not, if the occasion ever called to choose a number, the stock answer from any of them— _all of them_ —was thirteen.

Sure, it wasn’t a terrifically funny joke, but it was theirs nonetheless.

**

 

“Hey, Jen,” Misha said as they tucked into Jensen’s inordinately comfortable bed. Jensen made a sound of acknowledgment in the midst of his usual happy-sleepy-time sounds, and waited for the other man to continue. “The monsters… do you think… you know what, never mind; it’s stupid. ‘Night.”

That peaked Jensen’s curiosity like a cat that spied the red light of a laser pointer on a wall. He rolled to face Misha and raised his eyebrows in a clearly interested way. It was rare that the outspoken man gave pause to the thoughts banging around in his overlarge brain, but when it happened, it was only a matter of time before those thoughts leaked out. All Jensen had to do was wait.

Misha’s brow crinkled, pulling his dark eyebrows over his eyes. His lips turned down pensively as he worked through whatever riddle had stumped the great Misha Collins.

And 3… 2… 1… blast off…

“It is ridiculous,” he finally managed to say, the shaking of his head clearing the thought-induced wrinkles from his face. He flashed an embarrassed smile—another rarity from the Misha Collins Collection—and laughed. “It’s just, my mother told me the monsters on Sesame Street were—are—real.”

“So did mine,” Jensen said, his own lips curling into a nostalgic smile. “She hired a Cookie Monster for my fourth birthday party. Scared the crap outta me because he was so huge.”

Misha laughed at the thought of tiny little Jensen red-faced and clinging to his mother’s legs, crying so hard his freckles nearly popped off. He’d seen the Ackles Family Photo Albums over Thanksgiving and damn but the guy had been adorable, even back then.

“My mom had this extravagant mythology,” Misha said once the laughter had died and he’d settled Jensen against his chest. Jensen understood that confessions of childish beliefs were always easier when eye contact was severed. “She convinced us that all the monsters in the world lived in a place called Monster Land.”

“Monster Land?” Jensen chuckled. He loved—loved—hearing Misha talk about his childhood. It always gave him a clear look at the path that led to the man he’d become. “Sesame Street is in Monster Land?”

“God, no,” Misha sounded offended, which made Jensen chuckle harder. “Only bad monsters live in Monster Land. I know, it sounds insane, but it gets worse. Mom told us that there was no way the bad monsters could ever get to us—and eat us—because Monster Land is very far away.”

“How far away?”

“ _Exceedingly_ far away.”

“So, where is it?” Jensen asked, willing to play the eager listener.

“Mom never gave me coordinates,” Misha admitted, his voice going soft and pensive. He ran his fingertips idly over Jensen’s tee shirt. He sighed and started again: “But it’s so far away that monsters would have to take a car, and then a train, and then a boat, and then a taxi, then a subway, then an airplane, and a dogsled, and an elevator, and then a motorcycle just to get to our house.”

“Wow,” Jensen said, because he wasn’t sure what else he could say, given the topic.

“I know,” the other man said with a laugh that rumbled his chest. “Wait… I think I forgot the rocket ship. Yeah, there should’ve been a rocket in there somewhere, but I can’t remember the exact order anymore.”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” Misha said without a trace of humor.

Jensen waited for the rest of the story, but sometimes Misha stopped stories when he felt like it, not when the story was actually over. “Mish,” he prodded gently. “What about Sesame Street? Where is it?”

“Oh,” Misha said as if he’d forgotten what they were talking about, but Jensen was pretty sure that was just another one of his ways to insure he always had the upper hand in conversations. “Sesame Street is in Pennsylvania.”

“Pennsylvania?” Jensen laughed at that because, yeah, it was funny. The crazy ass things his boyfriend was in the habit of saying was in Jensen’s Top Five Reasons Why He Adored Misha. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve _been there_ ,” Misha said patiently, which stopped Jensen’s laughter short. “Mom took us one autumn. The waterslides weren’t open, but everything else was. I rode the Super Grover Roller Coaster until I puked.”

“Wait,” Jensen pushed up to lean on his elbow and look at Misha skeptically. “Did you say roller coaster?”

“Yes.”

Jensen jumped as Jared knocked on the open door and leaned in. He seemed unfazed by Jared’s eavesdropping, mainly because it happened so often. “Are you talking about Sesame Place?”

“Yes!” Misha snapped his fingers and pointed victoriously at Jared. “That’s it! Sesame Place. It’s in Pennsylvania, right?”

“Yeah,” Jared folded himself onto the foot of the already full bed, crossing his legs and settling in for an uninvited visit. Seriously, sometimes Jensen thought they should make a Boundaries Chart for Jared. “I went there one summer. The waterslides were awesome.”

“Damn,” Misha scooted up to the headboard and leaned against it, giving Jared more room and a carte blanche to stay for a chat. “I told myself they sucked so I wouldn’t mind missing them. But I always knew… _damn_.”

“We can go during summer hiatus, darlin’,” Jensen offered, to which Jared laughed but nodded his instant agreement. “We’ll do every single waterslide they have. And ride that coaster ‘til we puke.”

“They’d call the police on us,” Misha said with a grimace, even as he touched Jensen’s face in a quietly appreciative gesture. “Three grown men traipsing around—childless—in a preschooler’s fantasy world. Yeah, we’d end up some beefy convict’s prags. Especially you, Jen.”

“What?” Jensen sat up quickly, ready to defend his manhood. Gay sexin’ with Misha notwithstanding, he was the manliest man he knew. He was a freakin’ Texas-bred cowboy, for the love of God. “Why me?”

“Dude,” Jared laughed loudly. “Have you _seen_ your lips?”

Jensen blushed a flattering shade of mauve—the same color of his mama’s country kitchen curtains. Yeah, his lips… “Touché.”

 

**

“ _Every day when I make my way to the tubby_ ,” Jared led the happy trio in a rousing round of the familiar classic Ernie song as they maneuvered the crowded Vancouver airport. Several other travelers paused, looks of joyous recognition on their faces—whether from the song or the actors, Jensen couldn’t be sure, but hey, everyone could appreciate a good rendition of the Rubber Duckie song. “ _I find a little fella who’s cute and yellow and chubby. Rub-a-dub-dubby!_ ”

They sang it twice, and then settled into humming “C Is for Cookie” and “Doin’ the Pigeon” as their plane took off, on their way to New York’s Kaufman Astoria Studios to shoot their Sesame Street episode.

“Hey,” Jensen reached over and touched Misha’s knee where it jiggled like the spirit of a coffee bean possessed it. “Easy there, tiger. You okay?”

“Yes,” was Misha’s answer, without any further commentary. Jensen waited for the convention-ready ‘thank you’ that Misha employed to close a topic of conversation, but it didn’t come. Instead: “Should you be touching me here?”

“Is there somewhere else you’d rather I touch you?” Jensen asked with an audacious wink, even as he discreetly withdrew his hand.

“You know,” Jared commented from his seat across the aisle as he flipped through the character synopses the Sesame Workshop people had messengered over that morning. “It’s creepy to hear you to mack on your secret gay lover while I’m reading about the genesis of Prairie Dawn and Abby Cadabby.”

“Maybe you should check out the one on Bert and Ernie,” Misha suggested, surreptitiously pressing the outside of his right foot to Jensen’s left. “Their gay love is epic.”

“How many times, do you think,” Jared looked up with a contemplative look. He ruined the serious consideration with a grin worthy of dimples. “Can we say ‘gay’ in the next ninety seconds?”

“Depends,” Misha bit his lip and scratched his chin. “Are we talking gay seconds?”

“Are gay seconds different than straight seconds?” Jensen asked. Sometimes— _sometimes_ —his boyfriend and best friend were dangerous to his mental health. He was willing to let it slide because Misha’s leg had ceased its restless bouncing at the promise of zany conversation.

“Well, yeah,” Jared said as if everyone in the world knew this elementary fact. “Gay seconds always show up twenty seconds after the straight ones.”

Jensen laughed because of the three of them; it was Jared (the breeder) who was always late. Like, _always_. Like, gay late.

“Right,” Misha nodded sagely. “That’s Gay Standard Time. If a party starts at 8:00 GST, that means it really starts at 10:00 SST.”

“SST?” Jensen repeated, just to clarify. “Straight Standard Time? Is there a Bi Standard Time?”

“Nah,” Misha snorted. “They just bounce back and forth between SST and GST.”

They laughed together as they continued to gay up First Class. As God—and United Airlines—intended.

  
[ ](http://s1108.photobucket.com/albums/h404/evil_knitter/?action=view&current=Misha-div2.jpg)  


The set of Sesame Street made Misha’s heart skip. He stopped short of pressing a quelling hand to his chest, instead turning to share a deeply satisfied grin with his friends. To his left, he spied a huge green screen. To his right, Hooper’s Store— _Christ on a stick! Hooper’s Store!_ Directly in front of him was the stoop of 123 Sesame Street, where countless monsters, humans and guest stars had sat. A PA darted past carrying a familiar teddy bear, heading to a big bird’s nest— _Big Bird’s MF-ing nest_ —peaking around the back of the green screen.

“Jen,” Misha breathed, reaching out to curl his long fingers around the other man’s forearm. Jensen turned his head to focus his attention on his boyfriend. “This is… _amazing_.”

“Right,” Jared interrupted, as was his apparent right as The Best Friend. “They have an honest-to-God set. And there are Muppets. Our jobs blow.”

“Oh my god,” Misha’s grip on Jensen’s arm turned into a frantic tug as he pointed at a man lounging in a chair in front of the green screen. “Do you know who that is? That’s Kevin Clash!”

“Elmo?” Jensen asked. “ _That_ guy is Elmo?”

“Yes,” Misha leaned forward on the balls of his feet, ready to sprint into Kevin Clash’s personal space and full-on fangirl out. “I want to meet him. Come on, let’s—”

“Welcome to Sesame Street!” A strong feminine voice stopped them in their tracks. Dammit. Misha turned on his best Misha ‘Wrecks In Effect’ Collins smile and let go of Jensen’s arm. “We are so pleased to have you here. I’m Carly, and I’ll be taking care of you during your time on the Street. Right this way; I’ll show you to your dressing room.”

Misha shot one last look of longing toward Kevin Clash and then followed Carly, listening intently to her running monologue on all things Street. The scripts were in the dressing room; a table read scheduled for noon; on-set rehearsal at five; and filming to start at eight the next morning.

“The refrigerator is well-stocked so help yourselves,” Carly said as she ushered them into a large, shared dressing room. “I’ll let you get settled and then I’ll walk you around the set.”

“Look,” Jared said from next to the table in the corner. “They have juice boxes.”

“Juice boxes!” Jensen laughed, but scurried over to see for himself. Misha was hot on his tale. “I haven’t had one of those in years. Hook me up. Do they have gra—”

“Dibs on grape,” Misha foxed his way in front of Jensen and snatched up the sole purple juice box.

A laughing kafuffle ensued as three grown men tried to lay claim to the liquid form of happiness. As they hit the couch—Misha on bottom, Jared on top—the door to the dressing room opened again.

“Excuse me,” Carly said with a pointed clearing of her throat. She waited as the men disentangled and stood in impromptu poses of casualness. “Is everything all right in here?”

“Quite all right,” Misha said. “Simply a gentlemen’s disagreement.”

“A juice box incident,” Jared supplied with a grin while Jensen hid a laugh behind a cough.

“Thieving jerk,” Jensen said, which made the other two howl with laughter. Yeah, their jokes weren’t funny.

  
[ ](http://s1108.photobucket.com/albums/h404/evil_knitter/?action=view&current=Jensen-div.jpg)  


“Jensen,” Elmo said as he sat on Jensen’s knee. “Will you sing Elmo a song?”

“I have the perfect song to sing you, Elmo,” Jensen said as scripted. He beamed down at the fuzzy red monster, truly starstruck. “In fact, you can help me sing it. Would you like that?”

“Oh, yes, Elmo would like that very much!” Elmo cleared his little throat. “You start, Jensen.”

Music flooded the set. Jensen knew that if he looked to the left of the lead camera, he would catch sight of Misha and Jared. It didn’t normally bother him if they watched him film scenes on the Supernatural set, but at Sesame Workshop, it was different. He was so far out of his element that it was as if the element ceased to exist all together.

_This is the song_  
La la la la  
Jensen’s song.  
La la la la  
La la la la  
Jensen’s song. 

“Um, Jensen,” Elmo tapped Jensen’s chest and turned his monster eyes up. “Excuse me, Jensen, but…”

“What is it, Elmo?” Jensen asked as the music abruptly stopped. “Don’t you like my song?”

“But Jensen is singing Elmo’s song!”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s my song,” Jensen said seriously as he watched Misha out of the corner of his eye. His boyfriend had one hand over his mouth and one pressed to his stomach as if trying to stave off a loud fit of manly giggles. “Do you like it?”

“No, it’s _Elmo’s_ song!” Elmo said firmly with his little red hands flailing. “Listen, listen. Elmo will sing it for you.”

_This is the song_  
La la la la  
Elmo’s song.  
La la la la  
La la la la  
Elmo’s song. 

_He loves to sing,_  
La la la la,  
Elmo's song.  
La la la la,  
La la la la,  
Elmo's song. 

“Hey,” Jensen let his eyes grow comically large. “Your song sounds just like mine!”

“But it’s Elmo’s song,” Elmo’s little shoulders drooped into a pout.

Jensen felt a little like a dick and wanted to assure the little monster that he was only saying the words the writers demanded he say. At the last minute, he reminded himself that Elmo Monster was, in fact, not real and therefore had no real emotions.

“What’s up, guys?” Zoe the orange monster asked as she approached the scene. Jensen waved at her. “Why are you sad, Elmo? Jensen, why is Elmo sad?”

“Jensen is singing Elmo’s song,” Elmo explained in a small voice. “But he says it is Jensen’s song, not Elmo’s song.”

Jensen chanced another look out of the corner of his eye at Misha, who was watching with intensity only he could muster.

“Oh dear,” Zoe said with a shake of her head. “What are you going to do?”

“I have an idea,” Jensen said. Both monsters turned their faces to him in eager anticipation. He couldn’t help but smile. “Let’s _share_. We can sing it together.”

“Sharing is a great idea!” Elmo exclaimed, his bright smile back in place.

“Ooh! Ooh!” Zoe hopped in place. “Can I share, too?”

“Sure, Zoe,” Jensen said smoothly. He cleared his throat and hummed the tune to signify the start of their performance.

_This is the song_  
La la la la  
Jensen’s song.  
La la la la  
La la la la  
Jensen’s song. 

Elmo bopped his head from side to side.

_La la la la  
La la la la_

_He loves to sing,_  
La la la la,  
Elmo's song.  
La la la la,  
La la la la,  
Elmo's song. 

Zoe twirled with her arms high above her head.

_I love the music._  
I love the words.  
That's Elmo-Jensen-Zoe’s song! 

Jensen snapped his fingers as the monsters leaned in close for their big finale. He could make out Jared doing his infamous monkey dance behind Misha and the camera, but refused to be baited.

_We wrote the music._  
We wrote the words.  
That's Zoe's,  
that's Jensen’s  
That's Elmo's song! 

_Oh, Yeah!_

“Will you knock it off?” Oscar the Grouch popped out of the garbage can to Jensen’s right, a banana peel stuck to the top of his head. His face scrunched up in ten types of disdain. “Sharing and caring time is _over_!”

Oscar disappeared with a bang of his garbage can lid.

“Cut!” the director, Jon Stone, called. Loud whoops and whistling came from Misha and Jared who had no sense of decorum.

The Muppets surrounding Jensen fell away with an abruptness that made him wince. He’d managed to ignore the Muppeteers just out of the camera’s field of vision for the entire take, but now there was no denying them. The magic of Sesame Street was held together by men and women in black jumpsuits and wires.

“That was great, Jensen,” Jon said with a warm smile. “Quality stuff. We’re going to re-set and get straight into Jared’s scene with Super Grover.”

“Wait,” Jensen held out his hand to stop Jon from disappearing in a whirl of scripts and PAs. “That’s it? One take?”

“Sure,” Jon said, his brow crinkling in the middle. “It was perfect. Were you happy with your work?”

“I… guess,” Jensen shot Misha a look, but his boyfriend had cornered Kevin Clash and had Jared snapping a picture of the pair with his phone. “I’m just not used to one take.”

“It’s rare around here, too,” Jon admitted with an impressed nod of his head. “But you nailed it. I’ll check out the dailies and if we need different angles or shots, I’ll let you know. But really, great work.”

Misha joined Jensen as soon as Kevin and Jon moved away. Jensen didn’t shy away when his boyfriend hugged him. “That was excellent,” Misha said, dropping a secret kiss on Jensen’s neck before pulling away. “I think that was the best work I’ve ever seen you do.”

“Hilarious,” Jensen said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe I’ll finally score that Emmy.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Misha said, his lips pulled down into what Jensen called Misha’s Serious As A Heart Attack Face.

  
[ ](http://s1108.photobucket.com/albums/h404/evil_knitter/?action=view&current=Jared-div.jpg)  


“Look,” Jared said as he trailed behind Carly, who despite her short legs, kept leaving Jared in her dust. “I’m just saying that a cape is an obvious choice.”

“Super Grover has a cape because he’s _Super Grover_ ,” she said for the third time. “There’s no reason for you to have a cape.”

“Can’t I be Super Grover’s apprentice?”

“You have the script in your hand,” Carly stopped suddenly and wheeled on Jared. He stepped away from her fiercely jabbing index finger. “Does it say anything about you being Super Grover’s apprentice?”

“No,” Jared grinned his very best grin. He had conquered hundreds with his very best grin. Carly would be putty in his hands in 3…2…

“Well then,” she said with a shake of her head. “You are _not_ his apprentice and you do _not_ get a cape. End of story.”

Jared watched, flummoxed, as Carly stalked away. He turned to share his disbelief with Jensen and Misha, and they did not disappoint.

“Dude,” Jensen said with wide eyes. “The grin didn’t even make her pause. You must be losing it.”

“Or she’s a robot head,” Misha added, to which his friends rolled their eyes.

“I’m going to find Jon,” Jared decided. He shouldered past his friends and spent ten minutes searching the set for the director. He found him huddled around a projector with several Muppeteers. “Hey, Jon. You got a minute?”

“Sure, Jared,” Jon disengaged from the group. “Is this about the cape?”

Jared spared a few seconds to be impressed by Carly’s quickness. Hell, word traveled fast on the Supernatural set, but Carly was clearly out to set the land-speed record in tattletaling.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, which was disappointing because he meant to go in with guns blazing. He tried again. “Think about it! Super Grover and me, superheroes and best friends!”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Jon said. “But the script has already been written and approved. The blocking is set out for the existing script. If we change now, we will have to redo all of it.”

“I’ll help,” Jared said quickly. He never dabbled in writing, but he’d made plenty of notes on scripts before. “We can get the script to mimic the existing blocking scheme. All I want is a cape, man.”

“Okay, okay,” Jon laughed and clapped Jared on the shoulder. “I appreciate your passion for the show. We are technically ahead of schedule since Jensen got his in one take. Let’s talk to the writers about the changes.”

Three hours later, Jared emerged from the writer’s room with a new, handwritten script and a victorious smile. He bounded onto the green-screen set and shook hands with the Super Grover Muppeteer.

“Okay, let’s run through this one time,” Jon said from his chair. “We’ll roll cameras to see if the blocking still works. Here we go people. Action!”

“Welcome to Super School, Super Apprentice Jared,” Grover said in his warbling voice. Jared grinned because he was _there_ , acting with freakin’ Super Grover. “The first thing you need to learn is how to put on your hat. We do it like it like this.”

Grover put his silver helmet-like hat on his blue head, grunting and muttering the whole time. Jared mimicked Grover’s movements and sounds, tucking his floppy hair into the brim of the hat the costume guru had managed to procure in quick order.

“Good,” Grover said, nodding his head imperiously and causing his hat to slip slightly to the side. He threw in his Model Face for free. “You look very dashing, Jared.”

“It’s important to look your best while fighting crime,” Jared said, reaching out to adjust Grover’s hat. “That’s in the Super Handbook, right?”

“Correct,” Grover handed Jared a red cape. “The cape is next. There are ties to keep it in place. We put it on like this.”

“Cue Super Grover!” Jon called. Jared held his mark as the Grover Muppet was replaced with a Grover Muppet with his Super Grover cape already in place. The Muppeteer, dressed in a green bodysuit, strapped Grover into place around his body for the full-body action sequences. A PA handed Jared a much larger cape and scurried off set. “We’re still rolling. Action!”

“I tie it around my neck, right?” Jared said as he made a hasty bow. “Is this good?”

“Excellent,” Grover said. This time his nod did not disturb his hat. Jared assumed it was sewn directly into the Muppet’s head. “Do you see this lightning bolt on my chest? See it? Right here? With the G?”

“Ah, yes,” Jared bent down to squint at the Super Grover insignia, as scripted. “That’s so awesome. Do I get one, too?”

“Every Superhero needs one,” Grover decreed, his high voice wise and excited. “ I have created an insignia just for you, Super Apprentice Jared. Taaa-DA!”

Jared remained still as a costumer hurried into the shot and slapped a cloth insignia to his chest. Her fingers smoothed the fabric a little longer than probably necessary, so Jared flexed his pecs and winked at the girl. She blushed the color of red wine and ran away.

“This is so cool!” Jared crowed, which was not scripted, but sounded great and true. His insignia consisted of a tornado with a brilliant red J in the middle. It was perfect. “Thanks, Super Grover!”

“Are you prepared for your flying lesson?” Super Grover asked, rolling his little shoulders and neck to warm up. “It is tricky, so you should pay close attention.”

“Like this?” Jared asked and leapt into the air. It was here that Jared would be shot flying into the air with the ease of a seasoned superhero. He moved to his next mark and pretended to land after his successful flight, bouncing a little on his heels. “How was that, Super Grover?”

“Ah, very… very good, Super Apprentice Jared,” Super Grover looked up at him in consternation. “Now, watch me.”

Super Grover backed up, shook his hips and took off running (which would be looped to look like a lengthy run as opposed to the two steps the Muppeteer actually took). Grover gave a long, loud war cry. Jared knew the special effects crew would add footage of Super Grover flying at an uneven, loopy clip through the sky, eventually colliding with a duck.

“So you see,” Super Grover panted and pressed a fuzzy hand to his chest. “That is how Super Grover flies.”

“Did you mean to run into that duck, Super Grover?” Jared asked seriously. “Should I run into a duck next time?”

“Perhaps it is time to practice your name,” Super Grover suggested. He lifted one leg and one arm, reminding Jared (inappropriately) of Captain Morgan. “Sup…..ER Grover!”

“Okay,” Jared copied Super Grover’s stance as best he could. “SUP…..er Jared!”

“No, no,” Grover shook his head and tsked his lips. “It’s Sup…..ER Grover!”

“Okay,” Jared found his pose easily enough and tried not to laugh. “SUP…..er Jared!”

“No. Sup….ER!”

“SUP…..er.”

“Sup…..ER!”

“SUP…..er!”

“Gah,” Grover faceplanted into his palm. “You are very stubborn, did you know that?”

“Cut!” Jon yelled from his chair. He approached Jared with a happy look on his face. “That was great stuff. I think the marks work well. We’ll re-set and do it for real. After that, we’ll need to get some shots of you flying. I think this scene is going to be really fun for our viewers.”

“And for Jared,” Misha called from half a room away.

“Hey, I’m all about the kids,” Jared laughed.

“And the cape,” Misha said, because Jared could never have the last word where Misha was concerned.

  
[ ](http://s1108.photobucket.com/albums/h404/evil_knitter/?action=view&current=Misha-div2.jpg)  


Misha sat serenely in a chair at the steps in front of 123 Sesame Street. His scene with the legendary Kermit the Frog was moments away. Jon had insisted that Misha improvise an interview with Kermit about life and working on television. It wasn’t necessarily the Sesame Street experience he’d been looking for, but he wasn’t crazy enough to pass up the opportunity to work with the world’s most famous frog.

He’d managed to convince Jensen to take Jared very far from set, afraid that Jared would make inappropriate attempts to break his concentration. It was a valid fear after all of the inane shenanigans Jared had subjected everyone on the Supernatural set to over the years. The last thing he wanted was Jared sneaking a foot onto his crotch, or dropping trough and making a helicopter out of his dick.

“Misha,” Jon came over with a middle-aged man. “This is Steve Whitmire, the voice of Kermit the Frog.”

“Mr. Whitmire,” Misha promptly got to his feet and offered his hand. “What a pleasure. It’s an honor to meet such a legendary voice.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Steve said with a strained smile. “Please call me Steve. I’m a fan of Supernatural, so I’m looking forward this.”

Misha noticed Steve had not said he was a “big fan”, which was what almost everyone he’d ever met said. If he’d had time or the inclination, he would have rolled the implication around, searching for hidden meanings. But they were on a schedule and in less time than he thought possible, he was resettled into his chair, facing Kermit the Frog. Steve sat in a small alcove behind the stoop where Kermit was perched, hidden from the camera, but still in Misha’s line of sight.

“So, Misha Collins,” Kermit began, clearing his throat once before continuing on. “You are a television actor.”

“That’s right, Kermit.”

“You act on a television show called Supernatural,” Kermy continued with a sage nod. “As the angel Castiel, one of the least interesting characters on television today.”

“That’s right,” Misha smiled broadly and settled in for a stress-free interview with America’s favorite Muppet. “I—wait, what did you say?”

“You played a pivotal role in undermining the Apocalypse,” Kermit barreled on. Misha widened his eyes at Steve, who was steadfastly ignoring him. “You could argue that had Castiel not intervened, then your brother Gabriel would still be alive. Isn’t that correct, Mr. Collins?”

“Oh for the love of—” Jon jumped out of his seat and came forward, waving his arms above his head. “Cut! Cut! Steve, we talked about this.”

“What’s going on here?” Misha asked, getting to his feet and turning to the director. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the Muppet on the steps. “I get the distinct feeling that Kermit does not like me.”

“No, no,” Jon said, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s nothing personal, really. It’s just that Steve… is… let’s say emotionally invested in Supernatural.”

“Did his investment go sour or something?”

“Steve, look,” Jon said in a whisper that easily carried across the stage. “Let it go, man. It’s not Misha’s fault. You know that, right?”

“Of course,” Steve said stiffly, not relinquishing his spot just out of sight.

“We good?” Jon asked Misha.

“Uh,” Misha said, struck unusually dumb by the strange situation. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and quickly tapped out a message to Jensen to get his ass back to set ASAP PDQ…BBQ. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

The first few questions were mundane. How did you become an actor? What’s your favorite thing about working on Supernatural? What do you do between takes to pass the time? But then, things got wonky again.

“Would you say,” Kermit asked, leaning forward on his perch as if his little froggy question was of great import. “That you manipulate the emotions of your female fans? That you used their hormonal overdrive to catapult you to star status, thereby insuring your continued appearance on Supernatural, despite the fact that your character’s story arc ceased to exist at the end of the almost-Apocalypse?”

“Jesus, Steve!” Jon hollered.

“What is your problem, man?” Misha demanded. “What did I do to you? Fuck your girlfriend? Steal your lunch money? I mean, what the hell?”

“We don’t allow that kind of language on Sesame Street,” Kermit sniffed. Misha was amazed to find Kermit was looking down his non-nose at him. “I thought you are supposed to be a professional!”

“Excuse me?” Misha goggled. He was finding it difficult to talk back to Kermit the fucking Frog. All of his years as a highly trained word ninja were useless to him against his fuzzy new nemesis.

“Steve, seriously,” Jon snapped. “Keep it in your pants. We’re still rolling.”

“Is it true you ran eight-three kilometers in one day for your charity, Random Acts?” Kermit asked, rapid-fire style. It almost sounded like an accusation in Kermit’s nasally voice, so Misha eyed him suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Uh, yes, that’s right,” he finally answered when Kermit tilted his head and gave his little head an impatient shake. “I took pledges from the public. We ended up earning just over ninety-thousand dollars for Random Acts.”

“And you are doing what with it?” Kermit prompted. Misha relaxed a little, because he could not see how that particular line of questioning could end badly. Talking about charity always made people more, well… charitable.

“Our purpose is to spread kindness throughout the land,” Misha said with a smile. He truly loved talking about Random Acts and their simplistic, yet far-reaching mission. “We go out into the world and try to make people smile.”

“Because smiling is more important that feeding the hungry?” Kermit asked, employing that stupid sage smile again.

“No!” Misha spluttered. He hadn’t spluttered since that night back in 1989 when Cindy McQueen had grabbed his crotch and led him like a dog on a leash up the stairs to her bedroom. “There are plenty of organizations that are dedicated to the bigger issues. Random Acts has chosen to—”

“Waste money giving bikes away to people who most likely hawked them the same day,” Kermit interrupted. “Nice.”

“What’s going on here?” Jensen’s low voice cut through the silence that followed Kermit’s latest attack. Misha swung his head around to shoot his boyfriend an exasperated look. “Did Kermit just insult Misha?”

“Steve!” Jon slapped his palm against his arm rest and pushed to his feet. His face had turned an early spring tomato shade of red.

“I think you who said it best, Jensen,” Kermit quipped, his mouth open wide, one finger in the air. “Misha is a _whore_!”

It was not a moment Misha was proud of, not by a long shot. He doubted seriously that he would ever tell this particular tale at a convention, or even over Thanksgiving dinner at home, where wild stories ruled the holiday. No, no. This moment was best left to those who had witnessed it. Thank Christ for non-disclosure clauses.

He jerked forward out of his chair and launched himself at the little green Muppet. His long fingers wrapped around the green wool even as his body’s momentum carried them over the stoop of 123 Sesame Street, into the alcove where Steve Whitmire huddled.

“Misha!” Jensen and Jared yelled as one, both of them sprinting onto the set and grabbing at his arms as he threw punch after punch.

Here’s the thing about Misha: He’s as slinky as a cat. He slipped out of their desperate grasps with ease and continued to wail on both Muppet and Muppeteer-slash-dickhead. He unleashed a torrent of curses that would make Bob Saget blush with shame.

“It’s your fault!” Steve shrieked from the bottom of the star-studded heap. “Your fault!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Misha demanded, pinning the man’s arms beside his head. Kermit had rolled away and was vacantly grinning at the brick wall.

“It’s his wife,” Jon blurted as he worked his way into the fray, grunting and shoving as he went. “His wife called out _your_ name in bed.”

“zOMG,” Jared said succinctly.

“She…” Misha released his hold on the voice of Kermy and scrambled from his straddled-over-his-hips position. That was never the right position to be in when discussing such delicate matters. “My name? But… do I know her?”

“Sheila has an insane crush on you,” Steve groaned, wiping a weary palm over his face. “She watches on Livejournal like a hawk. Saves those damn pictures to our hard drive—we have one thousand and thirty-two of them on our hard drive. And that’s not counting the gifs!”

“Daily Misha?” Jensen asked with his eyebrows three inches higher than normal. “What the…?”

“You remember that episode where Castiel says ‘it’s not of import’?” Misha asked, and thankfully, Jensen took the note.

“Hey, man,” Misha leaned over and offered Steve his hand. “How long have you been together?”

“Twenty-five years,” Steve said, but refused to take Misha’s hand, opting instead to lie resolutely on the ground.

“See that? That’s love!” Misha said, grinning in order to cover his mounting panic. He had physically assaulted Kermit the ever-lovin’ Frog. In front of cameras. “Come on, man. She doesn’t really want _me_. She wants _you_.”

“Nothing wrong with a little fantasy,” Jared put in. Misha hoped he shut up, but of course he didn’t. “You can’t tell me you don’t have a hot piece on reserve in the spank bank.”

Steve’s eyes flickered up to Jared and then away. Ha! Misha loved Jared’s stupid mouth sometimes. He offered Steve his hand again, and that time, Steve took it and let himself be pulled upright.

“The chick from Transformers,” Steve said after smoothing down his hair.

“She’s hot,” Jared said with an approving nod.

“Hey, uh, look,” Steve said with a cough, turning his body but not his eyes toward Misha. “I’m sorry about all of this. It’s been, uh, a stressful week. No hard feelings?”

“Don’t sue me,” Misha said, clapping Steve’s shoulder perhaps a little harder than strictly decorous. “And you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Misha was happy when he finally got to put that damn frog in his rear view mirror. He never liked Kermit to begin with. Seriously, his girlfriend was a pig and his best friend went “waka-waka-waka.” Misha couldn’t take a frog seriously under those conditions.

  
[ ](http://s1108.photobucket.com/albums/h404/evil_knitter/?action=view&current=Jensen-div.jpg)  


Jensen left Misha in their dressing room with a new grape juice box and a Jared. He was Not Pleased by the treatment his boyfriend had received at the hands of Steve Whitmire. Misha had been the most excited of the three of them to appear on Sesame Street, and so far the experience was falling way below the eager man’s expectations. Jensen took Misha’s disappointment personally and set out to cure it.

He got directions to Jon’s office from a passing crewmember and headed that direction with his shoulders and jaw squared. He intended to demand—yes _demand_ — that Misha be given another scene, possibly something with Jensen so he could keep an eye on the proceedings. He didn’t care if it was with Herry the Monster or The Count or Slimey the Worm. He _had_ to find a way to salvage Misha’s dreams.

Jon opened the door to Jensen’s firm knock and did not look surprised to be face-to-face with a disgruntled guest star.

“You’re here to talk about The Misha Debacle, aren’t you?” He asked, pulling out a tube of antacids and chucking a few in his mouth. Under normal circumstances, Jensen thought idly, Misha would _love_ knowing he had an actual debacle named after him.

“Yeah,” Jensen said, using his ultra-deep voice to subtly declare his displeasure. His lips stretched into a firm line of determination. “This was Misha’s dream, man, and your boy damn near killed it. You need to put him in another scene.”

“I don’t have a script for any other scenes.”

“Not my problem,” Jensen stepped forward, using his height to intimidate the shorter man. He never went in for physical intimidation, not normally, but when it came to Misha… yeah. He regretted his decision not to bring Jared, who was freakishly as protective of Misha as Jensen himself. Seriously, Jensen thought, boundaries; they should talk about it. “You’ll figure it out.”

“I need a day,” Jon said, backing away. “I have Bert and Ernie scheduled for the afternoon. I’ll write him into that scene.”

“That’s perfect,” Jensen said, slapping the director’s arm in approval. He turned to go, pausing at the door long enough to say: “Have the scripts and shooting schedule delivered to the hotel. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

Jensen led the charge onto the set the next morning, his grinned matched twice over by Jared and Misha on either side. Jon had picked up the gauntlet Jensen had thrust into his gut and ran with it. The scripts delivered to their hotel early that morning were golden. All three men were given roles to play inside of the infamous Bert and Ernie apartment. There was singing, there were paperclips… there was a rubber duckie. Score.

“Here’s hoping no one else’s wife has a Misha obsession,” Jared laughed and held out his fist for a Wonder Triplets Fist Bump of Friendship and Other Manly Things. Yeah, it was another one of their things that no one else got.

“I wonder if the Bert and Ernie guys are gay,” Misha said after delivering the aforementioned bump with good cheer.

“Bert and Ernie are totally gay,” Jared said. “Duh.”

“No, no,” Misha said and jerked his head toward the two men hovering behind the limp Bert and Ernie Muppets. “I mean, the _guys_. The ones who play Bert and Ernie.”

They fell silent as they outright studied the Muppeteers, Eric Johnson and Allen Richardson. There was an understated give and take play to their interactions with each other. It was like watching two ferrets playing in a crinkle tunnel. Or kids chasing and running from waves at the beach. Or… like watching Jared and Jensen.

“Not gay,” Jensen said the same time Misha said: “Way gay.”

“Your gaydar is busted,” Jensen accused, making Jared laugh. “You thought I was with that dork when we first met.”

“Eew,” Jared said, twisting his face around an instant visual of his best friend grinding up against him. “No offense, man, but just… gross.”

“None taken. And may I had _hork_?”

“Hork?” Misha asked.

“It’s his vomit sound,” Jared supplied.

“Ah. Hey,” Misha said with his head slightly canted to the right. “I wonder if Eric and Allen have RPS written about them.”

Jared bent double, long arms wrapping around his stomach, as he laughed outrageously loud. His face turned a serious color of purple that would have concerned Jensen had he not seen Jared’s amazing laugh of lung deprivation before.

“Surely not as much as is written about you and Jared,” Misha continued, earning him a strangled swear from Jared as his laughter died.

“Ugh,” Jensen said. Having Misha as a boyfriend required a certain amount of bizarre extracurricular reading. Misha loved to torture him with the dirtiest NC-17 pieces he could find. Sadly, they routinely involved him and Jared doing stuff he was not comfortable imagining. “Ugh.”

“Hey guys,” Eric said with a bright smile as the trio finally reached the set. “You ready to rock this?”

“Morning guys,” Jon called from his seat beside the main camera. His brows clenched together briefly as he made eye contact with Jensen, who nodded coolly. “Everything’s ready… so… find your marks.”

The shooting went on for a while with Jon taking extra care to perfect each shot and every line. He gave Misha leave to improvise as he saw fit, which made the man’s lips curl up and his eyes shine. By the end of the day, Misha’s joy had clearly been restored.

“Thank you,” Misha murmured as he hugged Jensen close.

“For what?”

“I know what you did,” Misha said softly. “So thank you.”

Jensen just smiled, admitting nothing. There was no need to let his boyfriend know the lengths to which he would go to keep that ridiculous mouth smiling. Misha with a little knowledge was Misha with a _lot_ of power.

“Come on,” Jared shoulder bumped his way through the hug, not ever caring about interrupting tender moments between his friends. “The car’s here. Let’s go.”

“I can’t wait to see the whole show,” Misha said, settling into the back of the dark SUV. He linked his fingers with Jensen’s where they were out of sight from the driver.

“Do you think they’ll ever invite us back?” Jared asked, leaning forward so he could look at both Jensen and Misha beside him.

Jensen leaned forward so he could look at both Misha and Jared beside him. Misha glanced between Jensen and Jared. They shared quirked eyebrows and smothered laughter.

“Hell no!”

  
[ ](http://s1108.photobucket.com/albums/h404/evil_knitter/?action=view&current=Jared-div.jpg)  


Jared followed closely behind Jensen as they ran across the Supernatural set, darting between riggings and extras on their way to Misha’s trailer. Without pausing to knock, Jensen flung the door open and bounded inside, skidding to a stop in the middle of the room. Jared oofed into his side, nearly unbalancing them both.

“Hello,” Misha said serenely, sliding into one of Jensen’s faded University of Texas sweatshirts. He was already in a pair of DNA-patterned pajama pants and thick wool socks. “You’re here for naptime?”

“Aren’t you adorable?” Jared laughed, shoving away from Jensen. “Where did you find those pants?”

“I like to think they found me,” Misha said with a shrug.

“Focus,” Jensen said to the other two, drawing a black DVD case out of his jacket. Seriously, the Winchester brothers had the biggest inside-jacket pockets known to man. You could smuggle a watermelon in it, which he knew because they’d tried it—successfully—one night. “Look what just came.”

“Are we really going to watch porn together?” Misha asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Because that might be a little weird, even for the three of us. Boundaries, social norms, et cetera.”

“It’s our Sesame Street episode,” Jensen said, disregarding his boyfriend’s sarcasm. Jared knew from experience that that brand of Misha Sarcasm meant he’d recently tweeted about world domination or turnips. Twitter turned the man from quirky to insane in 180 characters. “Jon just sent it with a basket of cupcakes.”

“Oh yay!” Misha rushed forward and snatched the DVD from Jensen’s hands. “Where are the cupcakes?”

“Um.”

“You ate them all, didn’t you?” Misha asked Jared directly.

“Jensen helped,” Jared said, never missing an opportunity to throw his best friend under the Misha Bus.

“I saved you one,” Jensen reached back into his inner pocket and pulled out a carefully wrapped, although slightly smooshed chocolate cupcake. Misha’s face lit up and he took the proffered treat. “Now, let’s watch the show.”

They fell into their normal places on Misha’s couch—Jensen in the middle, Jared to the left, Misha to the right—and waited for the screen to flicker to life. Misha held on tight to Jensen’s hand, his excitement barely contained.

After the traditional theme song, and a piece featuring Herry Monster and Abby Cadabby, came Jared’s Super Grover scene. The men laughed uproariously, enjoying the simple editing and special effects that had Jared flying high above the city with his arms extended a la Superman.

An animated bit about the letter of the day (W, as it turned out) and a moment with Big Bird searching for his missing teddy bear, and then it was Misha’s heavily edited interview with Kermit. They all groaned and expressed their surprise that the bit had made the final cut at all. After a few minutes, Jared pulled out his horrific Kermit impression and started asking Misha questions about Jensen’s rumored ability to suck chrome off a bumper. They laughed so hard they had to pause the DVD to recover.

Jensen’s scene with Elmo and Zoe was sweet and made them all smile. Misha complimented him on a flawless performance, and Jared gagged when they shared a brief kiss, even though he agreed with Misha’s evaluation.

The episode went on to “Elmo’s World” and then back to Big Bird who, with Maria’s help, found his teddy bear. Finally, the camera focused on Bert and Ernie.

“I’m going to take a bath, Bert,” Ernie said, already wearing his shower cap and clutching a towel, a back scrubber and his rubber duckie. Bert made a sound of acknowledgment, but did not turn to his roommate. “Say, Bert, what are you doing?”

“Counting paperclips, Ernie,” Bert said without inflection. He gingerly moved one silver paperclip from one pile to another. He appeared to be just a few clips away from completion. “Twenty-three…”

“That can’t be right, Bert,” Ernie said. “There has to be at least ninety-four paperclips there!”

“Gah!” Bert covered his eyes with his little yellow Muppet hands. “Ernie! Now I have lost count. I have to start again. This is going to take all day.”

A knock at the door interrupted Ernie’s reply. He managed to open the door while maintaining his hold on his bath items. There stood Jensen, Jared and Misha, smiling and saying “hi” all together.

“Misha!” Bert ran across the room, looking simultaneously disgruntled and relieved. “Thank goodness you are here. I need help counting my paperclip collection! You are my best counting friend. Will you help?”

“Of course,” Misha said, laying a hand on Bert’s little shoulder and following him back to the counter where the paperclips sat. “Should we start with the number one? Or maybe start at the end, with number one hundred?”

Bert laughed with Misha at the unfunny math joke while Jensen, Jared and Ernie watched.

“I’m off to take my bubble bath,” Ernie told the J’s. As he headed toward the washroom, Rubber Duckie fell from Ernie’s arms and landed on the floor with a squeak. “Have fun with your paperclips, Bert!”

“Oh no!” Jensen pressed his hands against his chest and stared at the floor. “Look, Jared! Ernie dropped Rubber Duckie!”

“He can’t have a bath without Rubber Duckie,” Jared gasped. He shared a worried look with Jensen. “What do we do? Should we tell Bert?”

“Six,” Misha said with authority, dropping a paperclip on the smaller pile. He turned to Bert. “You know, Bert, I love counting things, but I also love the letter W. Did you know that?”

“Misha!” Bert held a paper clip mid-air. “I am the President of the National Association of W Lovers! I love the letter W!”

“We better not interrupt them,” Jensen said to Jared. He bent to pick up Rubber Duckie. “We can take it to Ernie.”

With that, the scene cut to Jensen poking his head into the room where Ernie sat in a tub overfilling with Bubbles. He seemed to be searching for something.

“Looking for this?” Jensen asked, offering Rubber Duckie to Ernie with a sympathetic look. Ernie clapped his hands and took the duckie. “You dropped it and I picked it up.”

“Thank you, Jensen!” Ernie hugged Rubber Duckie close, giving it a squeeze. “This fella is my best little buddy. I would be so sad without him.”

“I know what you mean,” Jensen said. “I have one of those, too!”

“You have a Rubber Duckie like mine?”

“No,” Jensen reached through the open door and dragged Jared in by his arm. “But I have a Jared!”

Ernie and Jensen shared a laugh when Jared lifted his shoulders in a shrug and gave a honk-honk.

From the other room, Misha and Bert traded W words.

“Walrus!”

“Wednesday!”

“Welcome!”

“Warts!” This one from Misha.

The skit faded out into the closing credits.

“This episode of Sesame Street was brought to you by the letters W and Q,” Big Bird said as he hugged his teddy bear tight. “And the number thirteen.”

The screen turned blue and there was the briefest moment of silence before Jared, Jensen and Misha burst into loud and overlapping words. They fist bumped and knocked into each other, congratulations peppering the air.

“There’s only one more thing to do,” Jensen said when they settled back into the couch. He shot Jared a conspiratorial glance and reached one more time into his goodie-hiding jacket.

“What?” Misha scooted away from his boyfriend and looked concerned. “Do we need to reshoot anything? It looked great, but I could see where they might want to—”

“No reshoots, dude,” Jared grinned. He should worry, he thought briefly, that he was so involved in his best friend’s relationship, but whatever. “We got you something.”

“Here,” Jensen handed over a thick envelope. The sheepish expression on his face surprised Jared and he stood up to give the lovers some semblance of privacy. “It’s really lame.”

Misha tsked at the possibility of a lame gift and then opened the package. He pulled out airline tickets and several brochures. He took inventory and read the information quickly. Blue eyes darted away from the papers and landed on Jensen’s face with something akin to worship.

Jared backed away with a grimace. He should have anticipated Misha’s sappy response to such an awesome present and made himself scarce before the big reveal. He’d be subjected to a Monkey Misha hanging off his shoulders later. That was Misha’s way of saying thank you to Jared, although he’d never understood how having a six-foot tall dude wrapped around his back counted as a show of gratitude, but hey, that was Mish.

“Sesame Place?” Misha asked Jensen, completely ignoring Jared.

Just before Jared managed to escape, he saw Misha launch himself at Jensen, pushing him back on the couch. Thank god, he thought, I was just sitting there! That would’ve been awkward.

“Hey, Jared,” Misha called out as soon as the trailer door opened. Jared paused and glanced over his shoulder. His friends were wrapped together, but all hands were accounted for, so shew. “Monkey Misha will find you later.”

Jared laughed, even though it wasn’t really funny. Nothing they ever did was actually ever funny. But yeah, that was okay.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  **Art** – Go see the fantastically fun art [HERE](http://tringic.livejournal.com/20364.html) by 
> 
> Thank you to the lovely and massively creative tringic for her amazing art, which is only surpassed by her dedication to this project. She was an outstanding partner in this venture and I am so proud of what we have accomplished together. Where possible, I used the actual names of those involved on the Sesame Workshop payroll.


End file.
